


Of the Silvery Moon

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Halloween, M/M, Teen Mystrade, more than a touch of AU, mystrade, with surprises lurking in the shadows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-20 01:11:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: Mycroft's visit to the library yields an unexpected encounter with someone who shares his love for classic, spooky books.  That Greg Lestrade is also the most rugged, beguiling boy he's ever seen is an unexpected, yet welcome, gift from whatever Halloween spirits might be looking upon him fondly at the moment...





	1. Chapter 1

      “Do you require assistance?”

Mycroft had felt no small surge of surprise turning the corner of his favorite section of the library and, first, seeing someone else present and, second, seeing that someone else perilously teetering on tiptoe trying to reach a book on the highest of the library’s uncommonly-high shelves.

      “I… yeah.  I don’t see a stool and I can’t reach that book.  Mrs. Potter gets mad if I climb the shelves and I don’t want her to toss me out again.  Twice is more than enough, thank you very much.  You’ve got a bit of height on me… can you reach that it? The one with the black spine?”

Looking up towards his target, Mycroft could not for the life of him stop the pleased smile that broke out on his lips.  What a tremendously interesting selection the mysterious someone else was pursuing.  It was worth obtaining it, if only to investigate further who was this person and from where did they acquire such appealing taste in reading material.  Which… well, which certainly complemented his companion’s visual appeal most intriguingly.

      “Yes, I do believe I can if… I stand on my toes… and stretch… a bit more… ah.  There.”

      “Thanks!  This is my favorite Halloween book.  Cracking stories that really make your spine shiver when you read them in the dark with only a candle for light.  I’ve probably read this one a hundred times!”

That was _highly_ noteworthy information.  First, it cemented the idea that this person was a dedicated reader and, second, it may have solved another mystery, one that had been most perplexing for some time.

      “How interesting.  Are you… it is likely a silly thing I ask, but might you be Gregory Lestrade?”

      “I… yeah.  How’d you know?”

      “Because that is the only name besides mine on the check-out card that appears multiple times.”

      “Oh!  Oh, aren’t you clever.  But… using your line of reasoning, I wager you’re that Mycroft Holmes fellow.  I wondered who that was.  Good to finally meet you!”

      “I… yes, it is good to meet you, too.  I am always happy to make the acquaintance of another aficionado of this genre of literature.”

Though none I have met are as handsome and virile-appearing as you, Mr. Gregory Lestrade.

      “Good stuff, it really is.  This bloke Poe is one of my favorites.  He’s got a sense of what can make you worry about the shadows you see when you have a walk on a lonely road.  There’s another one, too, I like…”

      “Lovecraft.”

      “Yes!  You’ve had his stuff out from the library, too, I’ve noticed.  It really _is_ good to meet you, Mycroft, because I think we’re the only two about that like the spooky stuff, which is a shame since… well, since the others don’t know what they’re missing!  I have to admit, though, that a lot of it is simply awful.  Not really scary, just violent and gory and… well, what’s the fun in that?  Anyone can write about a head being bitten off or someone having their guts ripped out… doesn’t take a lot of talent at all.  But, you _do_ have to have talent to write the stuff that slithers under your skin and makes you check under the bed before you go to sleep.  Poe and Lovecraft have loads of that sort of talent!”

How enthusiastic you are about the subject, Gregory.  What passion you demonstrate, what vigor and energy… I mean… what laudable appreciation you show for credible literary skill.

      “I agree.  And… I am quite heartened by your robust argument in their defense.  Might I ask… I am often here in the evening, yet I do not recall seeing you before tonight.”

      “Yeah…. it’s… my parents are a bit strict.  They worry about me and what might happen if I’m going about late at night.  Can’t be too careful, I suppose.  We’ve only lived here a year or so and I guess they’re still getting a sense of what’s what.”

      “I applaud their caution.  Our constabulary is a fine one and this area is notably safe, however, one cannot predict the occasional strange turn of events.”

      “True.  No matter where you live, there’s always the possibility for something strange or odd that might not have the best intentions.  Or, to be fair, maybe it does, but not too many want to hang about to listen and learn the real story.”

What an intriguing point you have made, Gregory.  Your mind, as well as your body, is most captivating.  Mostly your mind!  It would be terribly rude to ruminate long upon the delectable nature of your physical form.  Terribly, _terribly_ rude, indeed.  A morsel of rumination, however, is simply a show of appreciation and who could possibly object to that?

      “A highly-interesting perspective and I cannot find flaw in the basic premise.  It underlies, actually, many engaging films and novels, a number of which I count among my favorites.”

      “It does!  Hadn’t thought about it that way, but you’re right.  Speaking of, I was hoping to get _Frankenstein_ while I was here, but it was already checked out.  Any idea who might have it?”

You puckish scamp… I shall add humor and whimsy to your list of beguiling attributes.  Or not, for, again, my mind has decided to play parlor games and is concocting the most ridiculous of fantasies, placing you as the star of the performance.  Shameful.  The upcoming stern conversation to discuss its conduct shall be protracted and viperously harsh.

      “As you are waggling your eyebrows and grinning, Gregory, I anticipate you expect the answer to be me.”

      “And will I be right?”

      “You will.”

      Yes!  Greg Lestrade scores the winning goal!  The crowd erupts in cheers and throws money at his feet!”

Mycroft found himself laughing along with his new acquaintance, then smothering it to a whispered giggle as they were shushed and given a stern look by the librarian.

      “Heavens above, I am now profoundly distressed that I have prevented such a lofty personage from obtaining his desired reading material.”

      “I’ll do my best to forgive you.  Besides, I’ve got this one to read and I’ll take a few others home with me to soothe my pain.  I can get _Frankenstein_ another time.”

      “In truth… I _have_ finished with the book.  I simply took it to check several passages for an essay I was assigned by my tutor.”

      “You’ve got a tutor.  Is that why I don’t see you in school?”

      “Yes.  I… among other things, I am somewhat advanced in my academic progress and my parents felt I was best served by an individualized approach to my education.”

      “That makes sense.  No reason for you to sit there with my raggedy lot when you could be going further and faster.  I could tell you were smart, though.  Have that way of talking that lets people know they’re talking to someone intelligent.  Someone not to take lightly or underestimate.”

Must not preen!  A Holmes did not preen.  Any worthwhile personage did not preen and Gregory certainly viewed him as worthwhile.  The perception must be maintained at all costs!

      “Dear me… thank you?”

      “You’re welcome!”

Perception maintained!  Was it… was it ill-advised to attempt to show another layer of his worthwhileness?  Or, at the very least, show willing to _grow_ another level if the situation merited the sprouting?

      “Might I… also be awarded a winning goal?”

Please find my feeble humor acceptable, Gregory, please…

      “Game is tied one all!  Looks like… well, we’ll have to continue on, won’t we?  Can’t leave things a draw forever.”

Success!  Oh happy day!  And… there was a flash in your eyes that, were I so inclined, I might interpret as a desire for further interaction.  Which was unprecedented!  Especially given the ruggedness and comely masculinity you radiate like glow of the fullest moon.

      “I agree...”

Should he?  There _was_ an opening he might leverage, but it was a profoundly large first step for something as delicate as a romantic negotiation.  Which was not what this was!  Not at all.  Why had his brain even birthed those words?  Foolish thing.  It had best pull up its socks and begin to function properly or they would be having words at the earliest possible opportunity.

      “… and, if you are amenable, I would be happy to pass _Frankenstein_ on to tonight you to complete its lending tenure.  I have no further use for it and it matters not, truly, who returns the tome to the library.  My car is waiting and we can easily retrieve the book from my home and… I have no idea what were your plans for the evening, but I would ask… might you… we do both enjoy the same sorts of books so perhaps some discussion… I know you are not the sort to likely have an evening utterly free of commitments, but should you enjoy… that is to say…”

Unraveling!  His attempt at a clear, friendly invitation was unraveling like the bitter end of a wind-whipped rope…

      “I’d love to!  Have a chance to talk about books and films where we don’t have to whisper the whole time.  That’s a brilliant idea.  Let me square myself with Mrs. Potter for this book and then we can be off.  And, to think, I thought I was just going to have a quiet night at home reading.  This is going to be so much better.”

While Mycroft tried not to preen, again, from the grand compliment of being better than a quiet night of reading, Greg tried not to betray how eager he was to see where this unexpected twist to the day might lead.  He’d met a few people since they moved here, some from a friendly standpoint, some from a randy standpoint, and Mycroft had the potential of being a bit, or a lot, of both.  It wasn’t often you met someone who was smart, funny, gorgeous and… interesting.  Really and truly interesting.  Now, he had a proper chance to get to know Mycroft and, also, for Mycroft to get to know him.

Though, dear god, let Mycroft like what he learned.  Why hadn’t he combed his hair better before he left the house!  Looked like a ragamuffin and Mycroft certainly wouldn’t consent to be taken out for a film or a bite to eat by a ragamuffin!  Not that he was thinking precisely along those lines yet, though.  That would be…. incautious!  That was a good word, so he was going to use the fuck out of it.  That would be absolutely, fucking incautious and Greg Lestrade was nothing of the sort.  He was clear-headed, thoughtful, serious-minded…

Who was he kidding!  He was none of those things!  This was going to be hard…

__________

      “Oh… wow.”

      “Gregory?”

      “When you said you had a car, I thought that meant your parents’ car of something.  Not…”

A large, elegant, highly-expensive sedan with a driver waiting patiently behind the wheel, his own book in hand to help pass the time.

      “Ah, yes.  I have yet to acquire a driving license and must make do however I can.”

Making do was walking, taking a bus or begging a ride from a friend!  Didn’t Mycroft know that?  This was… ok.  Ok.  Mycroft was rich.  Nothing wrong with that.  Nothing at all.  He was still interesting, luscious… scratch that since it’s about as improper as a word can be… pleasant-looking, funny… no changes just because his family had enough money to own a car like that and pay a bloke to do the driving.

      “Yeah, that’s what one does in this world.  I’m… I’m lucky, I guess, since I can walk here from home.”

      “That _is_ convenient.  I often have to postpone my trips due to Father needing our driver’s services.  We, unfortunately, do not live within walking distance, though… well, one day I shall be more able to affect my own transportation and that will be a most wonderful thing, indeed.”

      “Absolutely!  Already planning what sort of car you want?”

      “Car?  Oh… oh, actually, no.  I have given it little thought, in truth, though I suppose I will have to do so at some point.”

      “Well, you can count on my opinion about what to get.  I love cars!  I read all the mags and watch the car programs on the telly.  I can answer all your questions.”

      “My, what a fount of knowledge I have found.”

      “That’s me.  If it’s about cars or football, I’m the man to talk to.  If it’s about school things or fashion or whatnot, then I’m fairly useless.”

      “We all have our strengths, Gregory.  It is why we cultivate a robust portfolio of assets so we are prepared for any eventuality, regardless of scope or scale.”

      “Ok.  Whatever that means.  Shall we go?”

Mycroft thought a moment, then flushed slightly at his previous statement which would make no sense to someone not involved, or being groomed to become involved, in rather critical, yet, at times, secretive endeavors.

      “Of course.  And… might it be prudent to phone your parents?  There is a mobile phone in the car that you might use.”

      “Shit, you’re right!  They don’t expect me back at a particular time, but certainly not as late as I’ll likely be at your house.  Good idea.”

And, didn’t Mycroft just adore the sound of that.  Not only a visit, but a prolonged one.  That indicated genuine interest, did it not?  And where there was interest, there might be willingness to repeat the event.  Or engage in something else equally entertaining.  It was foolish to cross one’s fingers in the superstitious ritual of invoking good fortune, however, cross them he would.  His toes, too, for good measure.  This was far too important to leave any stone unturned…


	2. Chapter 2

“Mycroft, do you live in Scotland or something?  We’ve been in the car for hours!”

      “Utter hyperbole, as you are well aware.  However, yes, we do live a distance from the village owing… my family’s property holdings are rather… vast… and, also, we do strongly value our privacy.”

      “Can’t blame you for that.  Where we used to live, we were in a flat and the walls were thin, people were always about everywhere, the building across from us could see right into our flat if you had the curtains open… you felt like you were living in a fishbowl!  When Dad got another job, we moved here and Mum found something better than she had before, too, so we have a real house now!  It’s small and wasn’t in good shape, but Dad’s handy and I help, so… it’s amazing.  So, yeah… privacy is important.”

Babbling!  He was babbling like a loon and probably making himself look like a pauper which wasn’t how he wanted Mycroft to think of him!  They might not have a lot of money, but they were a respectable family, an old one, too, and their neighbors said how good it was to have a nice family living there instead of the rather shady bloke that had the house for a few years, which is why the property was in need of a lot of work.  And why a number of other houses, they suspected, were missing certain items that the police never recovered.  But not them!  His family was making a neat, tidy home for a respectable, non-thieving family to live.  None of which was at all relevant, really, to anything in the world right now, so it was just more babbling… the fact it was only in his brain didn’t matter at all... it was time to shut up everything in his body and sit here like a rock.

      “Once again, Gregory, our thinking is very much complementary.  And, as a reward, we are nearly arrived.”

Greg unfroze from his rockness and looked up to see something he was certain he’d seen in some old film at some point.  It was everything you thought of when some spooky book talked about the enormous, brooding house that you came across unexpectedly when walking in the woods and stepped into a clearing. 

      “That’s really your house!  It’s… it’s one of those old manor houses, isn’t it?  It’s beautiful.  I honestly didn’t think houses that… atmospheric… existed in real life.”

      “Atmospheric… a very apt description, which is why I have a very special fondness for this particular home.  It _is_ an old structure and has been in our family for… oh, generations.  I find it… soothing, in its way.  There is a comfort to be taken from the weighty age of the stones and mortar, a sense of connection to the years gone by…”

      “I can understand that.  I bet, when you walk inside, it’s like the outside world stops existing.”

      “One of its finest features.”

      “That sounds marvelous, actually.”

      “And, for the evening, it shall be something for you to savor as deeply as you choose.”

Greg did a little shimmy in his seat and Mycroft smiled, both in delight at his new friend’s joy and in the fact that it was _his_ house that had caused the joy.  Many found the structure imposing, forbidding, but here was a soul with whom the structure resonated as it did with him.  Of all their houses, and there were many, this had always been his favorite.  Fortunately, it was Mummy’s and Father’s also, so they were very content to spend most of the year here and visit the other properties only for business reasons or the occasional holiday.

      “Brilliant!  And, of course, it’s the perfect house to talk about scary books.  Maybe watch a film now and then, too.”

Was that… was Gregory already agreeing to another assignation?  Astounding!  There truly was no other interpretation… this was a night of nights and all details, no matter how small, would be recorded in his journal, with sample sketches provided to instill in the pages the full flavor of this most wondrous evening of his existence.

      “I would… greatly welcome that.”

      “Good!  Though… I hope your parents won’t mind me being there.  My mum was alright with it, as long as I don’t stay out terribly late, but we didn’t phone your parents to tell them I was coming.”

      “They…”

What they would do was certainly something of a question.  He had never brought anyone home before!  That… well, it did not say admirable things about his social life, but the fact remained, and their response to it… Mummy and Father could be so confounding, at times!  And they were smug about it, too.

      “… they shall be delighted to have you.  We entertain often and a guest is always a welcome thing.”

Though they certainly did not entertain individuals of Gregory’s age or walk of life.  In any case, if their hospitality was anything less than stellar, they would have to answer to him.  Likely they would ignore the summons to respond, however, principle had to be satisfied, regardless.

      Well, delighted or not, here we are.  I’ll… I don’t look too much like a ragamuffin, do I?”

      “A what?  Gregory, do not be silly.  Your appearance is most appropriate.”

If a single thing were changed I would duel to the death the agent that prompted such an insult.

      “What’d you say, Mycroft?  Something about a duel?”

Eek!  Internal monologue malfunction!  The proximity of utter catastrophe is… catastrophic!

      “I… I was remarking upon the… _dual_ aspects of your demeanor.  You exude a strong sense of confidence yet, as do we all, I suppose, see it wane when confronted with parents.”

That was the most spectacular example of thinking on one’s feet in the history of thought itself.  Truly all medals and accolades should be awarded for this unrivaled performance.

      “It’s true!  It’s so very, very true.  You really are one person when you’re with your mates and a different one with parents.  Anyone’s parents, too.  It’s like they’re a different species.”

      “Something I have long suspected to be the case.”

The pointed clearing of a throat alerted each boy that the driver (a) had the door open, (b) the door had been open for some time and (c) they had yet to make use of said door in any meaningful fashion.

Smiling sheepishly, Mycroft exited on his side, then lost the sheepish part of his smile as _Greg_ slid out of the car on his side, rather than wait for the driver to move around the car to repeat the action.  What remained of his gentle grin was a true gladness that his friend did not stand on ceremony for something so simple as leaving a vehicle.  Though a great deal of _his_ life was tied to formality, ritual and protocol, it was refreshing to lose that for awhile and simply… be Mycroft, with a new friend at his side.

And, now, as they crept through the main entrance, if he was very lucky…

      “Ah, Mycroft, there you are.”

…Mummy and Father would be out for the evening.  Drat.

      “Yes, Mummy.  I have just returned, in point of fact.”

      “With… hmmmm…. certainly not your standard armfuls of books, I see.  Well?”

      “I… well, what?”

      “Introduce us!  Where, my son, are your manners?  Hiding in the butler’s pantry?”

      “Mummy…”

Mycroft sidled up to his mother and glared at her mightily.

      “Do not embarrass me in front of Gregory.”

      “Oh, so your name is Gregory, young man.  Come closer and let me have a better look at you.”

Greg’s own sidling had been back towards the door given the woman standing in front of him was tall, with flowing tresses of dark hair, a face a painter would murder his brother to render on canvas and had a body that certainly wasn’t showing its age, not that her exquisite, form-fitting dress had any way of hiding the fact if it did.  She was gorgeous!  It wasn’t any surprise that Mycroft was as elegant and attractive as he was.  Not a surprise at all.  Oh no, he was starting to lust over Mycroft’s mum!  That was probably illegal!

      “I… ok.”

Looking towards Mycroft for strength, Greg skulked forward and stood as straight as he could, feeling very much like a bug under a microscope.

      “Hmmmm… well, well, well… our Mycroft has met someone most interesting.  Most interesting, indeed.  At the library, perhaps?”

Even her voice was gorgeous!  Like dark honey flowing in your ears.  Which sounded sexy but was sort of gross, actually, if you thought about it for a moment.  That didn’t dim the lustiness, though.  Not one tiny bit.

      “Ummm, yes ma’am.”

      “Excellent.  Truly excellent.  James!  James, come and meet Mycroft’s new… friend.”

      “How intriguing, my love.”

Greg jumped at the voice directly behind him and squeaked at the sight of a tall, impossibly handsome man smiling down at him with an undefinable gleam in his dark and strangely-seductive eyes.

      “Uh… hello, sir.  I’m… um, I’m Greg.  Greg Lestrade.  Friend of Mycroft’s.  New!  New friend of Mycroft’s.  How… how are you?”

The deep, rich chuckle that did its own flowing into _Greg’s_ ears prompted very unhappily-pleasant things in his nethers and there wasn’t any hint of gross about it.  Not one _teeny_ -tiny bit and if lusting after one parent was illegal, lusting after two probably got you an axe taking your head off and a good scolding, too!

      “Astonishingly well, my dear boy.  So polite of you to ask.”

Another bout of low, cock-tingling laughter was made worse by the soft, alto-toned giggle from Mycroft’s mother.

      “Father!  Gregory has neither the time nor patience for your foolishness.”

      “Foolishness?  Mycroft, I’m hurt.”

      “Pfft.  You are a scurrilous meddler and we are now leaving.  Mummy… I believe Gregory could do with a refreshment. Kindly ask Cook to have something prepared, will you?”

And with his proclamation made, Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hand and pulled him towards the stairs, ignoring the amused looks he knew with perfect certainty were painted on his parents’ faces.  They were the worst meddlers in the world!  Always with their ridiculous noses in his business.  That was necessary for Sherlock, who needed a full-time minder or, better yet, to spend the next twenty years chained to his bedpost, but not him!  He wasn’t the one who gladly exploded half the house with some bit of lunacy, laughingly called an experiment.  Purchase the infant an Igor and let him play mad scientist in some other house… leave this one for the serious-minded son, who…

      “Mycroft you’re about to walk into a wall.”

Actually, Mycroft did walk into the wall because it took a surprisingly long moment for Greg’s warning to slither past the peevishness and his penalty was rebounding off a particularly-robust section of the corridor to his bedroom.

      “Oh.  Silly me.”

      “It’s ok.  I don’t think the wall minded.”

      “No… that is likely true.  But, lo!  We have arrived.”

At my bedroom.  Which was NOT where I wanted to bring you for our visit.  The library!  Why did these traitorous feet not direct themselves towards the library?”

      “Mycroft?  Are you alright?”

      “Yes…. I… dear me…”

      “Go ahead.  What are you embarrassed to say?”

      “Is it that obvious?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Lovely.  Very well, in my fully-warranted upset at Mummy and Father’s typical nonsense, I failed to bring us to the library, which was my intended location for our conversation.”

      “Where are we, then?”

      “My… my bedroom?”

      “Really?  Mycroft, you have to buy me a few pints before _that’s_ going to happen.”

      “Gregory Lestrade, I already know very well that you would not be that cheaply bought and… you are grinning.  Most impishly, at that.  I believe I am the victim of a prank.”

      “Pranks tend to be more active, I think, like putting glue in your toothpaste or something.”

      “Valid point…”

And you are still grinning, which indicates you are not displeased at the moment, either from parental botheration or the bedroom faux pas.  Such an understanding and forgiving soul…

      “… in any case, the copy of _Frankenstein_ is in the library, as are the others in our collection that might pique your interest.”

      “One of those amazing libraries that houses like this are famous for?”

      “Precisely!  It is my favorite room, actually, and the fire should be lit, so…”

      “What are we waiting for?”

This time Greg grabbed Mycroft’s hand and pulled him back the way they came, doing an improvised dance move to sling Mycroft forward to take the lead when they were back on the ground floor, something Mycroft used to his advantage to continue the flurry of motion towards the library, where he made certain…

      “Oh, changing our minds, dear boys?  I’ll tell Cook to send your tray to the library instead, shall I?”

Greg’s eyes widened at the low hiss Mycroft shot at his mother and the delighted giggle she returned in response.

      “We… um, Mrs. Holmes… we decided the library would be a g… good place to chat since we wanted to chat about books.  Which libraries have.  A lot of.”

Mycroft glared daggers at his mother who was nodding approvingly at Greg’s slightly-stuttered speech and moving with the grace of a ballerina across the floor to, herself, open the door for them.

      “The perfect thing, then.  Such a cozy, intimate space, despite its size.  Do enjoy yourselves.”

The tug Mycroft gave Greg nearly pulled Greg out of his shoes, but it did the trick of getting them into the library, with Mycroft forcefully closing the massive door behind them.  If he had chains and padlocks, they would immediately be pressed into service, though, they would likely do naught to prevent any snooping by his busybody progenitors.  Now that he was embarking upon the sea of romance, there would have to be strict ground rules set for their conduct and a clear statement of the subsequent penalties should they violate said rules in any manner whatsoever.

And, no, he was not going to dwell upon how utterly ridiculous that sounded, given he had not even a dinghy to his name to explore the romantic sea.  Perhaps there was a book in here about boat building.  It certainly was worth a look…


	3. Chapter 3

      “The woman is tribulation made flesh.”

      “Mothers _are_ that way.  They just want to know what you’re doing, so if there’s a problem, they can lend a hand or offer to listen.  At least, that’s what my mum tells me when she makes me detail where I’m going, when I’ll be back, who I’ll be with and things like that.”

      “Yes, it is their duty, I suppose.  However…”

      “It’d be nice if they weren’t so… nosy about it.”

      “Exactly.  But, let us set that concern aside and… I have no idea where to begin here.  Would you first like a chance to look about?  It is a room… I find it has many points of interest.”

Not that anyone seemed particularly enthralled by them but him, but Mycroft let that point remain his secret.  Now, though, he could only hope that Gregory was not a member of the not-particularly-enthralled cadre.

      “Love to!  Be my tour guide and point out all the good stuff.”

      “Very well.  Let us begin with… the clock.”

Greg looked to where Mycroft was pointing and decided that was an extremely good idea, moving quickly to give a closer look to the enormous longcase clock.  He’d never seen one so intricately carved!  And the dial was…

      “That’s the moon!  With all the craters and peaks and whatnot… it’s… wow.  It’s gorgeous.”

Mycroft had only known one person to be so utterly transfixed by the clock and its unique beauty before and that person was standing at Greg’s side, marveling that he was not alone in appreciating the visceral impact of the piece.

      “It is exceptional, is it not?  As best a representation of the moon as could be rendered based on the telescope technology of the period.  An ancestor had this made and the equipment to study astronomy was not quite what we have today.”

      “It’s amazing… the care that went into making this, the skill… they don’t do things like that anymore.  Real craftsmanship is… you just don’t see it!  Not like this.  And it’s so dark.  What kind of wood is this?”

      “Mahogany, actually.  Though…”

      “Yeah?”

Should he?  Well, Gregory did enjoy a rousing tale of gothic horror, did he not?

      “There is a farcical tale that the wood was originally polished with the blood of virgins and that contributes to its rather exotic color.”

      “Ha!  Oh, that’s not a farcical story – that’s a terrific one!  Something those Hammer blokes would have made into a film if they heard about it.  Makes me love this old thing even more.”

      “I have always harbored a fondness for that story, as well, if I am to be honest.  And, in the interests of full disclosure, the farcical bit is really that this particular ancestor had very little use for virgins, given his preference for individuals possessing some notable skill in the sexual areas.”

Greg’s laughter did its own naughty things to Mycroft’s nethers, but he was terribly happy to hear it, nonetheless.  Gregory found him amusing!  Even after being battered by the insidious people who called themselves his parents, the admiration had not dimmed!

      “Maybe that’s why he used the virgins for clock polish instead.  Oh, that’s really and truly brilliant.  And… there’s a lot more horror film pieces in here, isn’t there?”

      “Verily, we have just begun.”

Greg’s excited dancing-in-place buoyed Mycroft’s spirits even higher and he puffed up a bit as he began the grand tour, taking even more pride in the fact that he had met someone who appreciated the things he loved than even in the things he loved themselves.  It was not something he had ever thought would happen, so the headiness of the it all was dizzying.  And the dizziness didn’t abate, but, instead, blended into an unfamiliar warmth as he strolled Greg through the library, pointing out various objects and works of art, old maps and portraits, and any number of books that, once, he had to steady Greg’s hands while his friend held it, so overcome was he at both the age and beauty of the illuminated pages.

It was only the knock at the door, announcing a tray of refreshments, that brought the tour to a halt and Mycroft quickly motioned Greg to have a seat on the large, leather sofa near the fire so they could relax for a moment.  As the maid laid the tray on the sofa table, Mycroft shooed her away from trying to do anything else, and offered Greg one of the…

      “What… is this?”

      “Ooh, some of that fizzy pop.  I love that stuff!”

      “You do?”

      “Sweet and cold… with what looks like some hearty sandwiches.  Really rare roast beef, my favorite!  Your Cook certainly knows how to treat a guest.”

Mummy… this was her doing.   Cook was very much a supporter of treating guests to the finest tea and cakes when they were entertaining.

      “I… I am pleased, then, this small repast will satisfy.”

      “Oh, it definitely will.  I can murder a good bit of bloody beef and crisps.”

      “Crisps?  Ah… I had not noticed that particular delicacy.”

Though watching Greg toss a few in his mouth and revel in their flavor made him certain he would never again fail to notice them and, further, dwell a long and scandalous time on the memory of such a sensual sight.

      “Yum.  They’re good ones, too.  Thin, salty and make a loud crunch.”

      “Are those the salient features of acceptable crisps?”

      “Some of the salient features, yes.  I’ve made a thorough study of brands of crisps and these are right at the top.”

      “A culinary academician.”

      “For crap food?  Absolutely!  You can ask me anything and I’ll lecture like my History teacher.  Go on and on and on until you fall asleep.”

So… Mummy might be spared some of his wrath since she seemed to have ensured Gregory received something he enjoyed.  Some _small_ measure of his wrath, that is…

      “I shall remember that should I suffer a bout of insomnia.”

      “I’ll give you our phone number and you can ring me anytime.”

Greg paused shoving a large bite of sandwich into his mouth and realized the offer he had just made.  Which was a bit forward, perhaps, but not an offer he wanted, in the least, to take back.  And, on his part, Mycroft was desperately hoping the taking back would not occur because… yes!  Yes on any and all levels and for every possible permutation…

      “Oh… I would appreciate that.”

      “Mwo tay.”

      “Pardon.”

Greg chewed a moment, then swallowed with a gusto Mycroft that had both Mycroft’s approval and admiration.

      “I said, ok.  And… well… you can use it whenever you want.  Not just… to listen to me drone on about this or that.”

      “I shall, then.  It… it would be good to repeat this experience in the future.  Or… perhaps… embark upon something new.”

      “You’d like that?”

      “I would, actually.”

      “Alright, then.  That, um… that sounds good to me, too.”

The shy smiles on each boy’s face quickly morphed to something else when they heard a long, loud rude noise blaring into the library.

      “Sherlock!  What are you doing here?”

Greg scrutinized the small invader and saw a tousled-hair boy with a glare as intense as Mycroft’s, though it was somewhat ruined by the splotches of green on his face.

      “Father forbid me to enter.”

Which ensured Sherlock would make this his next destination.  Something Father knew very, very well… the payment for his sire’s little jest would sting with the venom of a thousand scorpions.

      “Then leave and I will not reveal your disobedience.”

      “I refuse.”

      “Out!”

The rude noise sounded again and Greg felt certain he now had a very good idea of the dynamic between what must be the Holmes brothers.

      “Your little brother seems a right handful.”

      “Sherlock epitomizes pestilence in all its virulent forms.”

      “When Father finally rescinds his restriction on my purchase of flesh-eating bacteria, your mockery will be repaid a hundred-fold Fatcroft.”

      “Begone, foul creature!”

      “I refuse!”

      “Ummm, Sherlock, is it?”

      “Do not address me informally, lackey.”

      “Sherlock!”

      “Fine then.  I _won’t_ offer you one of the particularly scrumptious biscuits Mycroft and me have over here.”

      “What!  Biscuits!  Before dinner! This is an outrage!”

      “Because you weren’t given any?”

      “Precisely!  Hmmmm… at least you are not entirely dimwitted, it appears.”

      “Good for me, then.  Now, how about you let us get on with our visit and you can have a couple of our delicious biscuits.  You’re welcome to join us, but I suspect you’ve got better things to do with your time than hang about with your brother and a lackey.”

Mycroft had never seen his brother struck dumb before and hoped very much to see it again in the future.

      “That… that is correct, I do.”

      “Then we’d hate to hold you back from doing your very important… stuff.  Here, lad… have a few of these and you can get started.  Maybe, if you have an opportunity, of course, you can pop in later and tell us how successful you’ve been with whatever it is you’re getting up to.”

Mycroft had never seen his brother with that particular look on his face, which looked suspiciously like interest.  As if the person speaking to him just might be worthy of his attention.  Which was right and proper, of course, as the person was the incomparable Gregory, but… but it would not have occurred if Gregory had not shown patience and extended a hand, leaving it there, until Sherlock made a tentative move to reach out and touch it to see if it was real.

      “You will not be able to comprehend the results of my research.  It is far too advanced.”

      “Research, you say.  That certainly is advanced stuff.  Maybe I won’t be able to understand all of it, that’s true, but you can still boast about it, can’t you?  Besides, I’ve heard that if you’re truly brilliant and understand something especially well, you can explain it to anyone.  Maybe we can give that a try, since I’m about as anyone as a person can get.”

Reaching… just a little more, brother…

      “We shall see.  My… my current experiment, however, will take many hours.”

      “Oh… that’s ok.  If I don’t hear about it today, there’ll be another day and you’ll have even more to report, which certainly is a good thing, isn’t it?”

Sherlock stalked forward and studied the assortment of biscuits, choosing the two largest as his prize.

      “If it serves to educate you as to the skills and talents of your betters, then yes, it is a good thing.”

      “There we have it, then.  Best get started, though.  It’s not early and I suspect your bedtime isn’t much different than mine.  I’ll see you soon, though, if not tonight.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, then scrunched his face into a thoughtful scowl before spinning on his heel and marching out of the room.

      “What a fireball he is!  Keeps you on your toes, doesn’t he?”

      “Yes, he does.  But, Gregory… how masterfully you handled him.”

      “Nah, nothing masterful about a little flattery and a hearty biscuit bribe.”

If his friend had any idea of how profoundly unique it was for anyone to interact with Sherlock in such a fashion, he might reconsider the humble tone of his response.

      “Well, I, for one, thank you for it.  If he chose, Sherlock would embed himself in here like the roots of a tree into the earth and we would need nothing less than dynamite to extract him.”

      “Little thing just wanted some attention since you were getting your share.”

      “Very likely true, though Sherlock does enjoy chaos and mayhem for their own sake, as well.”

      “Who doesn’t?”

      “Gregory… are you confessing to being some form of rabble-rouser?”

      “Uh… possibly.”

      “Oh dear… what a dreadful fiend I have loosed upon this house.”

      “Mum would agree.  She says I’m the messiest creature on the planet.  And if there’s a garden about…”

      “Our gardens are especially extensive and meticulously groomed.”

      “When I was five, I dug up every one of mum’s flowers with my hands.  And ate about half.”

Mycroft’s death from falling lifeless onto the sofa was resurrected only by Greg’s manic grab for all the food on the tray, which inspired the most spirited battle of slappy-hands the world had ever seen.

      “Not fair!  Your fingers are leagues longer than mine!”

      “Your fingers are far more robust than mine, so we are appropriately matched!”

Though he had somewhat nimbler a time snatching a biscuit off the tray and pressing it into Greg’s mouth than Greg had of grabbing a handful of crisps and shoving them into Mycroft’s mouth, though Greg still took pride in the light smear of salt and crumbs on his new friend’s flawless, porcelain skin.

      “Hmmm… I must say, Gregory, these crisps of yours do have a rather unexpected appeal.”

      “Told you they were good ones.  Some are truly horrid, but your Cook seems to know her job.”

      “Apparently so.”

Though how their cook knew what would tantalize someone like Gregory was something of a puzzle, since she never served this sort of thing to the family.  Though… he might request such a thing now and again, now that he knew what a delectable nibble they made.

      “I would take a photograph; however, I fear the camera would not successfully capture the… vitality of this happy scene.”

Greg jumped out of his skin hearing Mycroft’s father’s voice directly behind them.  Fortunately, Mycroft’s predictable, teenaged irritation was highly skilled with needle and thread to sew him back into it.

      “Father!  This is not only unacceptable, it is rude.  You are sullying the legacy of Holmes hospitality and that shall haunt you forevermore!”

      “Oh dear, I do hate to be haunted.  Such a dreary experience, what with the shuddery moans and jangling of ghostly chains.”

While father and son bantered, Greg looked about for another entrance, because he knew for certain that Mycroft’s dad hadn’t come through the main library door.  And he didn’t hear him enter either, which was strange, since he normally had exceptional hearing.

      “Father, you are making Gregory feel unwelcome.”

      “Am I?  Oh, Gregory, I am profoundly sorry if I have done anything to make you feel as if you are not welcome in our happy home.”

Apparently, speaking in a sultry tone and affecting the most alluringly-contrite eyes a living thing could ever boast was Mycroft’s father’s way of issuing a decidedly false apology.  Not that Greg was going to complain.  Mostly because he was somewhat speechless at the moment.

      “Oh good heavens, cease your nonsensical gameplay and begone, you fiend.”

      “Fiend?  Usually, you reserve that epithet for your brother.”

      “Speaking of Sherlock…”

      “Must we?”

      “You sent him here to discombobulate us.”

      “That _does_ sound like something I would do.”

      “You admit your sabotage.”

      “Sabotage?  That is a touch histrionic.”

      “You are hereby banished from the library until… until such time as I see fit to rescind the edict.”

      “Your grandfather would be proud of you.  His interpersonal interactions were best described as iron-fisted, as well.”

      “Grandfather would not have interrupted us.”

      “No, he would more likely have taken off your Gregory’s head at the door with a broadsword.”

Greg’s soft gasp slowly drew a rather toothy grin onto Mycroft’s father’s lips and an exasperated huff from Mycroft himself.

      “Balderdash.  Grandfather was an excellent judge of character and Gregory’s character is strong and most respectable.”

      “Yes… a fine, red-blooded young man, I am certain.  Very, very certain, indeed.”

Mycroft stood, straightened is waistcoat, and promptly moved behind this father to begin shoving him towards the library door, a feat Greg had to admire, since Mycroft’s father was _very_ tall and had to weigh far more than Mycroft’s easy shoving made it appear.

      “Out.  And if you or Mummy is again guilty of snooping, I shall convene a family conference to discuss the matter.”

      “Do you mean you shall glare at us at dinner, as Sherlock does every night of his vituperative life?”

One of Mycroft’s hands grabbed the doorknob and turned, the other hand gave his father a final push through the now-opened door, though the older man took a moment to cast an appraising eye over Greg and smile one final time before Mycroft slammed the heavy door in his face.

      “The burdens of my life are many and onerous.”

      “My… my dad does things like that all the time.  He’ll even stop in at the schools’ football pitch to see who I’m kicking a ball about with and, worse, take his own turn being on a team.  There is nothing more embarrassing than watching your mates watch your dad chase a ball around.  Nothing.  It’s really bad.  But, Mycroft… how did your dad get in here.  I only see one door.”

Mycroft’s mouth opened to answer, then closed again before he raised a smile of his own and motioned Greg to join him near a section of the library’s shelves behind the sofa.

      “Like this.”

Reaching up, Mycroft pulled on an ornate wall sconce and Greg shrieked as a section of the shelves swung out to reveal…

      “A secret passage!”

      “One of several, actually.  There is somewhat of a honeycomb of them throughout the house and they often offer a quicker path from one point to another than using the standard corridors.  A more secretive path, as well.”

      “Can we… can I have a look?”

      “Of course!  I would be delighted to escort you.”

Mycroft stepped into the passage first, then laughed as Greg made a grand show of peeking in his head and looking about first before joining him.  And Greg looked so excited by this discovery, prompted by paternal busybodying that Mycroft removed a half-point from his father’s ledger of accumulated grievances.  It made but an imperceptible dent in the total, however, one must act fairly in all things, lest one be accused of bias…  and that was most unseemly…


	4. Chapter 4

      “This is the most amazing thing in the entire world.  I really thought secret passages were something writers and filmmakers thought up to make their stories creepier.”

      “They were, and are, features of note in certain larger houses.  I suspect they often were used for espionage and to facilitate illicit love affairs, however, rather than for nefarious murders or the movement of specters through the dwelling.”

      “You’re probably right, though that’s not nearly… well, I was going to say it wasn’t as interesting, but spying and fucking both seem like they could be very interesting, in the right circumstances.”

      “Gregory!”

      “What?”

      “Language.”

      “English.  Sort of.  My marks in school aren’t the best, I admit.”

      “You are well aware of what I meant.”

Greg’s naughty little boy grin stated plainly that yes, yes he did.  And was very proud of it.

      “Maybe.  A bit proper about things like that, are you?”

      “I… a touch, I suppose.”

      “That’s ok.  I’m a touch rough, so we balance out.”

Something that, to Mycroft, sounded very pleasant, indeed.

      “A highly strategic viewpoint.  Balance is always a laudable state, whether it be for personal matters, financial or political.”

      “See!  It’s good we met, or you’d be wonky and unbalanced, which would punch your laudability right in its fucking face.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but snigger at Greg’s antics, something that was wildly unusual for him, since he had few people with whom to talk about _anything_ , besides family, and those few people certainly did not harbor any whimsy in their souls.

      “A truly devastating fate.  I doubt I would ever recover.”

      “It’s a worry, that’s for certain, and one you should definitely avoid...  So… does this secret passage have little holes to peek into rooms, like you see in films?  You know the ones were the eyes in the painting are places for the villain to look through and see what’s what?”

      “Absolutely!  Though, I must confess, none use the eyes of a painting as their method of camouflage.”

      “That’s is a very wasted opportunity.”

      “I will broach the subject with Mummy and Father.  I know there are a few rather dreadful paintings in the house they would be most willing to donate to the cause of bolstering the eerie atmosphere of our home.  For instance…”

Mycroft moved towards a section of wall and slid back a small tab that covered just the sort of hole Greg had been hoping to find.

      “This particular vantage point is a strategic view of one of the smaller parlors, used in the past for private negotiations.”

      “Does that mean sex?”

      “Unfortunately, no.  More the negotiating of the terms of a treaty to return to respective monarchs for signature.”

      “Ooh!  That’s good, too.  What are we looking through on the other side?”

      “The jewel of a goblet.”

      “Really?”

Mycroft made a ‘follow me’ motion and walked a few steps forward to pull on an unused torch holder to open the hidden door into the room.

      “There.  See the painting of the rather gauche gentleman hoisting a goblet?”

      “Yep.  And I can see why that’s a good place to put a hole.  I wouldn’t notice anything if I was sitting in the room doing my bit for king and country.  That bloke a relative of yours?”

      “No, actually.  He was a political ally of my great-grandfather.  A vulgar man, by all accounts, but he had his uses.”

      “Your family is interesting, Mycroft,  I have to say.  Do you have portraits of any of them?”

      “My family?  Scads.  An entire portrait gallery devoted to them.”

      “Can I see it?”

      “If you wish.  We can reach it through the passage that intersects this one a few rooms along.”

      “Our own secret motorway.  This is bloody amazing and you are so, so lucky for having this.”

Not an opinion Mycroft had ever held, however, he grew up with all of this around him and, to him, it was simply the status quo.  It was… pleasant to offer this enjoyment to his guest and, to a great degree, see it all with fresh eyes.

      “I am gratified you are finding it interesting.  And… here we take a right…”

      “Is there a map for all of this?”

      “Actually, yes.  Father has it in his study.  A decidedly ornate representation, save for an addition made by Sherlock when he was younger.”

      “What’d he draw?”

      “A worm.”

      “Yeah, they’re not very ornate.  I bet it looks like a worm, though.  He seems the type to think getting details right is highly important.”

      “Oh, Sherlock’s attention to scientific detail is notably keen, however, at age three, he was not precisely so entrenched in his philosophy.  Father ill-advisedly asked if it was a piece of vermicelli.”

      “Yeah, that wasn’t smart.  How loudly did Sherlock scream?”

      “Mummy ran into the study with teeth bared, nails at the ready to destroy the villain that was murdering her son.”

      “Bet your dad liked that, though.  He seems the sort.”

Mycroft was not proud that it took a moment to fully glean Greg’s meaning, but the wiggling of Greg’s eyebrows helped cut through the mental haze.

      “Ah.  Yes, he did, apparently.  Sherlock was summarily removed from the study and the door was securely locked behind him to prevent any intrusion on the… aftermath.”

Greg’s laughter was truly a lovely, inspiring sound, to Mycroft’s ears.  Rich and throaty… and that his guest found a bawdy story appealing was… well, if one was to have a foolish romantic fantasy about a person, one would likely insert into it _some_ degree of bawdiness and it was good to know that said bawdiness would not be disparaged by the person about whom the fantasy was crafted.

      “Good for them!  It’s slightly… uggh… to think about parents having sex, but I know I’d want to be old like them and still want to have a nice time with the person I married.  I mean… why not?  It’s not as if your bits fall off or something, so might as well put them to good use.”

Mycroft filed that information away to add to his rapidly filling romantic fantasy asset portfolio and stopped in front of another section of wall, this one with a small latch indicating the door.

      “Eminently practical.  And, here we are.”

Walking through to the portrait gallery, the expected gasp from his companion didn’t surprise Mycroft, however, the wolf whistle that sounded loud in the high-ceiling room had not factored into his calculations.

      “Mycroft… you family is… they could all be film stars!

Greg looked around, then began walking through the long room, which had portraits of different sizes from small to life-size lining the walls.

      “There… yes, my family is known for the physical beauty of its members.  With some exceptions.”

Tall, perfectly-formed features with that fineness that screamed sophistication and elegance in a very loud voice… and all positively radiating a certain something that made Greg very sure _any_ of them would have his nethers tingling if he was in the room with them for more than ten seconds.  Mycroft’s family was sex on two legs!  Even the fellow near the big throne-y chair that only had _one_ leg.  Made him look even more dashing, lucky bastard.

      “My family is nothing like this.  We’re all a bit… not like this.  Stockier, more… the sort you’d meet in your local and buy us a pint.  Down-to-earth, my mum says.  Dad says scruffy, but he gets his ears boxed for it.”

      “I highly doubt that, Gregory.”

      “No, it’s true!  And when Mum boxes your ears, they stay boxed for a long time.  I speak from painful, painful experience.”

      “Verily, you are a comedian.  And, for the record, you are not scruffy.”

      “Tell that to the birds I’ve got nesting in my hair.  Maybe bats, too.  Or mice.  Could be all three; I haven’t run a comb through it lately to take a census.”

      “Gregory Lestrade… such silliness.”

      “You say that now, but just wait until a bat comes swooping out to try and catch a fly or something.  You won’t be laughing then.”

      “No, I shall likely be trying to catch it so that it does not violate the territorial rights of the bat colony that already makes the property its home.  I am not sufficiently versed in their willingness to accept interlopers and I would hate to see your tenant treated poorly when it was simply hoping for a small meal.”

      “Really?  You have bats?”

      “A goodly number of them.  And, as you correctly stated, they do a stellar job of reducing the insect population, especially during the particularly problematic summer months.”

      “That’s… this is the best house in England.  Maybe the whole world!  Did all of these people in the portraits live here?”

      “No, not all.  The branches of the family tree are somewhat expansive and touch on many areas of the world.”

      “Did they, at least, all live in brilliant houses like this one or are there some knocking about in cheap flats doing a bit of plumbing to pay the rent?”

That was the most laughable thought in existence.  There were those in the family who could not likely dress themselves properly without help for they would be confounded by the function of shoe laces, having never tied their own shoes once in their lives.

      “I doubt any of my current or past relations would know what _was_ the job of a plumber, let alone be capable of properly wielding the tools to do the necessary tasks of the profession.”

      “A posh lot, then.  Nothing wrong with that.  What do or did they do to put food on the table?  Or did they do anything?  Sometimes you’re so rich, your money does all the work and you just get to sit about sipping drinks and chatting without having to do a day’s labor to earn a farthing.”

      “I would say that does describe a few of our lineage… more than a few actually… however, a goodly number have actively worked to earn or grow their wealth provided those avenues do not require _manual_ labor of any form.  We have boasted an assortment of intellectuals, artists, skilled politicians and what, now, would be called entrepreneurs.  Other have gained less-defined positions that made their services available to whomever was willing to pay the rather exorbitant price for them.”

      “I could… I could listen to stories about all of that for hours.  That’s the stuff of books!  One day, I want you to tell me about some of them.  I wager it would be far more interesting that what I sit through in school.  So, in all of that, what bits are you?”

      “Me?  I… I suppose I could be considered an intellectual.  I do have some skill with the arts.  And, though I have not had a great deal of opportunity to exercise any talents in the political or economic areas, I feel that I could admirably take a role in those areas, should I wish to follow either of those paths.  I see, though, my likely path as one I forge myself.  Father did a similar thing and he has found it most rewarding.”

      “Why’d you leave out the sexiness?”

      “Because... I… I am not… that.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I… I am, obviously, one of the aforementioned exceptions to our family’s physical legacy.”

      “Are you blind?”

      “Not that I am aware.”

      “You have to be – you can’t have looked at yourself in a mirror and had that stupid thought knock about in your head.”

      “Gregory… look around you.”

      “Did that and you fit right in with them.”

      “Balderdash.”

      “Balderwrong.  You’ve got what they’ve got and don’t think you don’t.  Not for a minute.  Tall, gorgeous, got that voice that makes a bloke’s spine tingle… your portrait’s going to be the nicest of all of them.  Well, unless you get one of those strange modern artists who can’t make anything look like it actually does and then say it’s provocative or something to cover up the mess they made, but… don’t put yourself down, Mycroft.  In fact, I’ll say you’re not allowed to.  Do it again and it’ll be me boxing your ears, like Mum does to Dad when he calls our family a pack of raggedy hounds in need of a good day at the groomer.”

      “Gregory… these portraits… the graceful beauty that each radiates.  Mummy and Father, for heaven’s sake.  They are insufferable and find themselves to be far more amusing than actually they are, but… you cannot deny that I… I am not entirely convinced I was not left on the doorstep by goblins!”

      “You daft bastard… you’re comparing apples and oranges.”

      “Exactly!  They are succulent apples and I am a sour orange.”

Mycroft’s yelp at being thumped on the ear satisfied Greg’s urge to give his friend a good boxing and he huffed an exasperated breath while Mycroft rubbed away the sting.

      “What a wanker.  But, maybe, that’s normal.  I know a lot of people who think they’re dumb when they’re actually smart or fat when they’re nothing of the sort.  Don’t do that to yourself, Mycroft.  You’re the handsomest person I know that’s our age.  Yeah, your mum and dad are… woof!... but they’re done with all the filling in from being young and your skin, bones and innards not quite being the way they’re going to be when portraits like that are painted.  You’re already nicely woofy now, so imagine what you’ll be in a few years!  Breathtaking, that’s what.  Sex on two legs, just like the rest of them.  It’ll be miserable trying to keep my hands off of you!”

      “I… well… really?”

      “I don’t lie.  Well, ok, I do, but it’s usually about whether I’ve finished my schoolwork when I ask Mum if I can go with the other lads for a bit of football or visit the library.”

Greg smiled confidently then felt it waver a bit as he realized exactly how revealing his little speech had been.  Mycroft staring at him like he was seeing a ghost could be a good or bad thing and all Greg could do was hope and pray it was the former and that he hadn’t just accidentally gushed out a ‘I really think you’re handsome and would like to do something with that handsomeness if that’s ok with you and you’d like it, too’ blather of words just to get a punch in the nose for his troubles.

      “I… that is…”

      “Good?”

Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…

      “Yes.  And… it is very kind of you to say.”

It is very enormously ASTRONOMICALLY WONDERFUL for you to say!  Gregory finds me handsome!  As handsome as any of the ridiculous legion of figures portrayed on these musty walls.  He would weep with joy but for the worry that the redness and subsequent nose mucus would mar the appearance that dear Gregory found appealing.  Especially given… hands.  Gregory desired hands upon his person.  Perhaps it was a toss-away figure of speech, but anything involving hands at the moment was to be taken seriously if only because… what profoundly wonderful thoughts rose in the mind because of it.

      “Then I’ll say it often, since I’m a firm supporter of kindness.  What can we explore now?”

My boudoir.  Drat… even in my mind that does not sound as suave and come-hither as Father might muster.  Must work on sultry dialogue and inflection at the earliest possible opportunity.  The need was pressing!

      “Oh, anywhere you might like.  The passages will take us to any part of the house.  Might you… ah.  I know something you might enjoy and you will get to see the hidden staircases, as well.”

      “What!  Hidden staircases!  Lead on!”

Greg began pushing Mycroft back towards the hidden passage, which somewhat undermined his order for _Mycroft_ to lead on, but now was not the time to stand on semantics.  Then, it was a hasty scramble through the passageway to the first set of steps, which were exactly what Greg hoped to find.  Made of stone, no nannying guardrail or banister… just haunted house perfection that was only slightly modernized by the small, unobtrusive lights had been built into the wall so that someone using the steps didn’t have to light all the torches to avoid falling to an unpleasant death.  When they reached the top, it was another passage and set of steps, something that they repeated several more times until they reached their destination.

      “And we are arrived.”

Mycroft led Greg into the large, mostly empty, room, which was provided with large windows that faced in all directions as Greg found when he ran to each and looked out.

      “This is brilliant!  You can see everywhere!”

      “The room’s very purpose.  A way to keep watchful eye on who or what might be endangering the property and those it houses.”

      “A lookout point.  Smart.  And… this is incredible.  Is all of this your land?”

      “Oh yes.  Our holdings are most extensive.  And provided with its own points of interest.  Ruins of old structures, a rather scenic lake, the family cemetery…”

      “What!  You’ve got a graveyard?”

      “We do.  Family, servants who had no family of their own… there are many who spend their eternal rest in our care.”

      “Please tell me there’s a mausoleum.  One of the really big, terrifying ones.”

      “As a young child, it seemed the most soul-stealing structure in existence.”

      “Yes!  Next time I visit, can we have a look?”

      “Most certainly.  The old church might interest you, as well.  I am of the opinion that at the appropriate times of year, witches sneak into it to enact their various rituals and celebrations.”

Greg’s happy dance was now on Mycroft’s list of favorite sights in all the universe.

      “I can’t wait!  And… oh.  Oh, Mycroft… what is it I spy with my little eye over there?”

Mycroft followed Greg’s pointing finger and grinned shyly at the stack of books set near a heavy, comfortable chair which was positioned by one of the largest windows.

      “I am discovered!  I find the lure of this space to be somewhat unavoidable, at times, and come here to read.  It is especially beckoning when a storm rages and I can witness the dynamic energy of the event from a very advantageous vantage point.”

      “Watch a massive storm from up here?  That’s… that’s the most brilliant thing ever!  I bet the lightning really puts on a show, what with all these windows and walls to catch the light.”

      “It is a marvel to see, that cannot be denied.  The only less-than-admirable aspect is the lack of a bell to call a servant to request more tea.”

      “Poor posh baby has to run down to the kitchen and put the kettle on himself?”

      “No…”

      “Confess your shame.”

      “I have Cook prepare a pot and pour it into an insulated container for me to carry up here.”

Their giggling echoed off the stone walls and Mycroft realized that this was the first time anyone had been up here with him to share the moment.  Besides Sherlock, that is, but that was more like having a small, yappy dog following you about and certainly did not inspire mutual giggling or fond glances when the giggling was done.

      “That’s a very efficient solution.”

      “I… I shall have Cook prepare two containers of tea… or a small chest containing bottles of your pop drink… if you would like to read here with me sometime.”

      “I’d love to!  Your library or here… my house isn’t as interesting, but we can read there sometimes, too.  I’ve got films, too, to watch.  And games.  My family is a bit loony for games and we’ve got loads of them.  Mostly ridiculous, but they’re fun with the right people.  Or person.”

Mutual invitations had been issued and if that was not the cementing of a pact, in Mycroft’s mind, then nothing else in the world could possibly rise to the occasion.

      “That sounds most intriguing and I would gladly accept the offer.  I am now officially adding that suggestion to our list of potential entertainments.”

      “We have a list.  That’s nice.”

      “It is, isn’t it?  However, speaking of nice, might you wish to experience the opposite?”

      “Meaning?”

      “A visit to Sherlock’s laboratory?”

      “Please tell me it’s a real laboratory like they have in the old _Frankenstein_ films.”

      “It is a very near thing, yes.”

      “Then, oh yes, experiencing the opposite is our very next stop.  It’ll make the little man happy, too, that we presented ourselves to receive whatever scientific sermon he wanted to orate for our benefit.”

      “Your instinctive understanding of Sherlock is positively uncanny, Gregory.  We have paid people hefty sums as nannies and tutors who had not a tenth of your ability to interact successfully with my brother.”

      “Keep the sandwiches and biscuits coming my way and I’ll consider that payment enough.”

      “I believe that particular bribe is within our ability to fund.”

      “Thinking about it now… am I selling myself too cheap?  Price yourself too cheaply and people don’t take you seriously.”

      “Hmmmm… a highly credible point.  However, you did forget crisps in your initial salary proposal.”

      “Shit!  I did.  I’m a bad negotiator.  Be nice if I had someone to help me with that.”

Greg’s mournful face was squarely met with Mycroft’s sage stroking of his imaginary beard.

      “I may have a candidate to offer up for consideration.”

      “Ok.  We’ll discuss the resume while we make our way down to the mad scientist laboratory.”

      “Do you prefer a fleshier narrative or a concise list?”

      “Fleshier sounds better.  At least, it sounds filthier, which is always something that gets my attention.”

      “Then prepare for flesh and a plethora of it.”

The laughter bounced off the walls again and each boy wondered what they had done to deserve meeting someone as special as the person laughing along with them, but they weren’t going to question the situation too closely.  Sometimes, you simply let yourself enjoy what you’d found and didn’t take time to look the gift horse in the mouth.  Especially _this_ gift horse, that could easily become the gift that kept on giving…


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we come to the end of our tale. Halloween adventures are always a special treat and I do hope you have enjoyed this one as much as me!

Down flights of creepy stone steps, along secret passageways and down into the depths of the earth to end at an enormous door with heavy metal adornments and scowling gargoyles holding large rings in their mouths to open it.

      “This _was_ the wine cellar.”

      “Must have been some scary wine.”

      “The original builder of the house was rather florid in his tastes.  Not that I mind, of course.”

      “Nor me.  I’d have been disappointed, actually, if we’d toddled down here to find something that looked like it came off _my_ house.  This… yeah, this works.  Can I be one who knocks?”

Mycroft’s ‘be my guest’ motion was all the signal Greg needed to grab the large door knocker and pound it a few times against the ancient wood.

      “Begone!”

      “We didn’t walk all the way down here to get kicked out, Sherlock.  Come on, let us in so you can show me your laboratory.”

Both Greg and Mycroft felt certain they could hear, even through the thickness of the door, the sound of a small boy scrambling to let them in, though he stopped and paused a moment to compose himself and reapply the familiar scowl to his face that had slipped slightly in his excitement.  Of course, they could also be imagining things…

      “Oh no, Fatcroft and his pet.  My day has taken a decided turn for the boring.”

      “Always glad to be of help.  So, what do you have cooking, Sherlock?  It’s been awhile since I ate, and I could do with a bite.”

      “Buffoon.  I am surprised Cook did not provide you with your refreshment served in a dog’s bowl.”

      “I’m sort of surprised, too, because any dog would enjoy a nice bit of beef and good bread, but maybe she didn’t have one on hand.  Come on, then.  Show me about.  Unless you’re not proud of your lab, of course…”

Sherlock’s grab of Greg’s hand was nearly as forceful as Mycroft’s had been and Mycroft himself simply smiled and followed serenely, letting his brother take charge of the tour.

      “Behold!  There are Nobel laureates who would commit cold-blooded murder to have a laboratory as successful and worthwhile as mine!”

Greg had no idea what a successful or worthwhile lab looked like, but he did know what an amazing one looked like and he was staring at it right now.  Old, heavy tables covered in burbling flasks connected with convoluted sections of glass tubing… large and complex pieces of equipment with dials, knobs and levers galore… shelves filled with books and papers… even one of those things that had a spark rising up between two spikes of wire that buzzed mysteriously and made you wonder what would happen if…”

      “Gregory!  Do not insert your finger into Sherlock’s Jacob’s ladder. Are you mad?”

      “Let him!  I have yet to conduct a test on the effect of that level of voltage on living tissue.”

      “True, brother, but you ruined any number of our meals by electrocuting the entrée.”

      “You cannot electrocute something that is already dead.”

      “Semantics.  In any case, Gregory… behave.”

Greg’s pout was a good match for Sherlock’s and he gladly joined the small boy in a huff-fueled turn away from Mycroft to continue with the tour, though Greg’s huff changed to a giggle when Mycroft pinched his side from behind as penalty for forming an alliance with the house’s most troublesome resident.  Though the troublesome resident became far _less_ troublesome as he detailed the experiments on which he was working, demonstrated the function of certain equipment and, generally, had the chance to show off his scientific prowess to maintain Greg’s visibly enthusiastic attention.

Something that Mycroft felt burrow into deep into his heart and carve out for itself a home.  Sherlock approached all people with a suspicion and contempt that acted to shield him from potential scorn or ridicule and to see someone recognize this and allow his brother to spew his vitriol as a test of the potential connection… Sherlock was positively aglow from the positive attention!  Just a small amount of patience and understanding and Sherlock opened like a flower, albeit one retaining some measure of its thorns and barbs.  Even showing Gregory his antique microscope collection, telling the story of each piece… so utterly happy just to be able to share something important to him with someone who cared.

      “This is unbelievable, Sherlock.  I can see why you’re able to do your award-worthy research things here.  I know who I’m coming to when I have a science project or essay assigned.  I wager you could have me sorted with top marks easily enough.”

      “Gregory Lestrade… you will not have Sherlock do for you your schoolwork.”

      “Be silent, Blimpcroft!  The lackey properly recognizes my staggering intellect and, in a surprisingly clever strategy, seeks to leverage it for his benefit.  I spit upon his ignorance, but must applaud his cunning.  And, the rates for my services will be most reasonable for someone as destitute as him.”

Greg’s grin was wide and Sherlock’s smug smile was even wider, both of which made Mycroft’s long-suffering sigh highly warranted, though he cherished the image of his brother with an ally at his side.

      “Perhaps we might consider _some_ form of assistance, but I shall monitor that it does not veer into the area of outright cheating.”

The boos and hisses did sour the sweetness of Mycroft’s lofty intentions, however holding firm on this issue he would remain, regardless of how glorious it was to know that Sherlock had taken so readily to Gregory and that Gregory’s intention of remain a fixture in their lives had not waned with additional exposure to Sherlock’s standard pestiferousness.

      “Joyful.  Now, we shall leave you to your work, though, I am certain Gregory will be delighted to hear what progress you have made when next he visits.”

      “Which will be when?”

Sherlock was _very_ taken with his new acquaintance, it seemed.  What a profoundly gratifying thing that was to see and lit a small spark of hope in Mycroft’s chest that Sherlock could find others in this life with whom to form a bond.  The gifts his brother had to offer the world would never be bestowed if he simply sat lonely in his laboratory and never felt sufficiently safe or welcome in that world to want to become a greater part of it.

      “When Gregory has the opportunity.”

      “Which will be when?”

Greg tossed a grin at Mycroft and took his own moment to cherish the sight of Mycroft’s brotherly affection lighting up the laboratory more brightly than Sherlock’s entrée electrocuter. 

      “Mycroft, do you… do you have any plans for Friday?”

      “I… no, not any of which I am currently aware.”

      “Then, do you think it might be possible for me to stop in on Friday?  We’re supposed to see some rain and it might be a nice time for me to bring a book and read a bit in that big room on top of the house.”

      “Mycroft’s coop?  Another fattened pigeon comes to roost.”

      “Shut it, you evil troll.  Mycroft… does… ummm… does that sound alright?”

Alright?  The guarantee, Gregory, the sacred accord, of another evening together?  Without the need for me to stammer out an insipid invitation that would melt my flesh and bones with the bitter lye of humiliation?  I think the answer might be yes.

      “I do, though I would add the codicil that I do generally have a variety of matters that occupy my attention until early evening so, shall we say, seven o’clock?”

      “Perfect!  Mum and Dad will likely be happy, too, since they can step out for a night and not worry about me getting up to mischief alone at home.  So, Sherlock, is Friday soon enough for you?”

      “It is utterly unsatisfactory; however, I suppose I have no choice but to endure your lack of commitment to science.”

      “That’s very kind of you.  We’ll be off then.  Try not blow up anything tonight, ok Sherlock?”

      “I make no promises.”

      “Fair enough.  Mycroft?  On we go?”

      “Gladly.  Brother, we shall speak later.”

      “Oh joy, words from Mycroft.  I shall take to my bed beforehand so the inevitable being bored into a coma shall, at least, be a comfortable experience.”

Mycroft simply rolled his eyes and motioned Greg to follow him out of the lab, breaking into a smile only when they were fully out of Sherlock’s sight.

      “That really is something special, Mycroft.  Sherlock being able to do all of that, all those things he likes… I’m happy your parents encourage him and don’t try to muzzle his interests and creativity.  Muzzling his _mouth_ might be a good idea, but it’s great to see him spreading his teeny wings.”

      “They take true pride in Sherlock’s efforts, though his missteps and miscalculations are one of the reasons the wine cellar was relocated to a _larger_ space.”

      “Yeah, if he was my son, I’d be friendly with wine, too.”

      “And a variety of much stronger spirits.  In rather cliché fashion, they favor an especially-potent absinthe after one of Sherlock’s more destructive rampages.”

      “Looming spooky house and absinthe-drinking owners.  Yep, cliché fully satisfied.  Your family does everything right, doesn’t it?”

      “Apparently, we do.  Impressed?”

      “Very.  So impressed, in fact, that I’ll let you win the race back to the library, so we can enjoy more of that fire.”

      “It _is_ a touch clammy in the cellars for some people’s comfort.”

      “I’m one of them.  Ready?”

      “I am prepared for sprinting.”

      “Ok, then.  You sprint and I’ll saunter lazily along behind you.”

      “Hmmmm… perhaps, I shall reduce my sprint to a canter so as to better keep you company.”

      “And so I don’t get lost trying to find my way back to the library.”

      “Succinctly stated.”

__________

Mycroft felt no shame sitting a bit closer to Greg on the sofa than he had earlier in the evening and made certain to showcase his hosting abilities by seeing to Greg’s desire for something to drink and ensuring the fire was roaring nicely in the hearth.  Which, to him, all presented an image he found wildly appealing.  The two of them enjoying simple pleasures, but taking a great deal of satisfaction from them, owing greatly to those pleasures being shared.  And shared they would continue to be in the future.

      “Oh, this is perfect.  Tell me you get to do this sort of thing every night, Mycroft.”

      “I do, in truth.  I strive to indulge in even a half-hour of quiet reading with the small comforts this room or another provides me.”

      “Good.  I’m happy to hear that.  It’d break my heart to think this perfect experience was ever let go to waste.”

      “I make you a solemn vow to take advantage of it at every possible opportunity.”

      “There we go.  My mind is now completely at rest.  And… I should probably ask… I was a little forward inviting myself here on Friday.  Sherlock seemed like he needed a bit of reassurance that he’d get another chance to yell at me, but I hope I didn’t overstep.”

      “Not at all!  I… I was already preparing to extend an invitation for your next available evening, so this was wholly in line with my plans.  And, you are absolutely correct… Sherlock did need some reassurance that his foray into forming a connection had not been a failure.”

      “Does he have _any_ friends?”

      “No, to my sorrow.  Now and again, Mummy and Father have hosted gatherings of children his age, offspring of our peers so Sherlock cannot use social inferiority as an excuse to make no effort towards building friendships, but…”

Mycroft’s shrug ended that sentence fully, though Greg wished it wasn’t so unhappy an ending.

      “He’s a unique lad… not everyone appreciates that, more’s the pity.”

      “Yes, it is.  I worry about him, Gregory.  Constantly.”

      “Well, how about I take some of it, so you can worry a bit less?”

There was a sincerity in Greg’s voice that almost drew a tear to Mycroft’s eye.  The concern, both for him and for Sherlock… in the grand scheme of life, it was a little thing, but it meant so, so much.  And, perhaps, with two sources of encouragement and support, Sherlock might, someday, be as lucky as _he_ had been tonight in gaining such a compassionate and understanding friend.

      “Thank you, Gregory.  I take great comfort in that.”

      “I am a very comfortable person.  In fact…”

Greg took a very deep breath, then slid over a little and hesitantly put his arm around Mycroft’s shoulders.

      “I’m actually pretty warm and have enough padding to make me a good teddy.”

No, he was not purring.  What an utterly ridiculous notion.  Just because Gregory had made a phenomenally-romantic move and… yes, he _was_ blissfully warm and solid… with a rich, masculine scent that soothed as greatly as it excited… that was no reason to feel a contentment so profound that his comfort rumbled in his chest with each indrawn breath.

      “I agree.  Such a… cozy… individual you are.”

      “Then… think you might like me doing this on occasion?”

      “Only on occasion?”

      “Trying not to be too obviously forward, because I suspect you don’t have an eye for gropey gits who put hands where they’re not wanted.  And, because it’s fucking rude and that’s not the way I’d treat you.  Ever.”

So honorable.  So very chivalrous and respectful.  And with such strong, striking features… majestic, kind eyes that were warmed beguilingly by the flame of desire… firm lips with just the perfect touch of softness…

Mycroft had some preconceptions about how his first kiss would feel and… they failed to hold a single candle to the actual event.  The physical attraction he had to the man in whose arms… arm… he rested was extreme and the physical draw was matched utterly by the attraction to Gregory’s mind and soul.  Every of his own nerves was ignited with scorching passion and it was as if he long had been wandering in a barren desert only, now, to find water.  Gregory’s strength, the fiery heat of his skin, the soft fur covering his long, exquisitely pointed ears… what?

      “Gr… Gregory?”

      “Huh?  Did… did I do something wrong?”

Mycroft’s hugely-widened eyes screamed yes, but Greg couldn’t see what Mycroft could be upset about.  It was going well!  And Mycroft kissed _him_ first, so...

      “You… you… your….”

      “What?  Mycroft what’s wrong?  What did I do?”

Mycroft’s raised his hand and used one of his long fingers to point to the problem.  A problem that had been pivoting towards him to better catch the sound of his stammering.

      “Ears.”

      “Ears?  I… oh.   Oops.”

      “Gr… Gregory… you… you are a werewolf?”

Greg’s hands slammed over his ears and looked around for a quick way out without smashing through a window.  He didn’t have the money to replace that!

      “No.”

      “Untrue!  You… you are a werewolf!”

      “No… Mycroft, please…”

Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hands and yanked them down to expose his ears, which were being joined by in the tableau by a decided shift in the appearance of Greg’s eyes.

      “You, Gregory Lestrade… you are most certainly a werewolf!”

      “Shit.  Shitty shitty shit shit!  Please, Mycroft, you can’t tell _anyone_.  Not a living soul!  We… it’s hard to control at certain times of the moon cycle and when I’m angry or excited or something… we had to move from our last flat because people started to ask questions!”

      “Gregory…”

      “You grow out of the lack of control, but… I’d get out and people would see me… there wasn’t any place to run without people seeing me!  Mum and Dad… please, Mycroft…”

      “Gregory, listen to me…”

      “I don’t want to have to move again!  It’ll get better, I promise!  We don’t eat people or kill people or anything like that!  Dad’s a bloody grocery manager for pity’s sake!  He can get all the meat he wants and not a single farmer loses a chicken!”

      “Gregory…”

      “Please, Mycroft… don’t tell anyone.  I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore, but please… I didn’t mean to scare you and I promise I’ll never, never, never hurt you…”

      “Gregory…”

      “Just don’t let anybody know.  You never have to see me again!  Just, please… FUCK!”

Mycroft had given up trying to break through Greg’s breakdown and decided the direct approach here was likely the best.

      “You bit me!  You… you’re _still_ biting me.”

Greg watched stunned as Mycroft’s teeth remained buried in his wrist, though… it was actually only two teeth that were sunk into the flesh.  Two canines that seemed to be happily making available a quantity of werewolf blood for their owner to quaff at his leisure.

      “Mycroft…”

      “Hmmm?”

      “Ummm…”

      “Fwha?”

      “Are… you’re a vampire?”

      “Mwha?”

      “Toi.”

      “Pfrhpfs.”

      “Perhaps.  Really, that’s what you’re going with here with your teeth draining me dry?”

      “Zhur nt dvry.”

      “I’m not dry yet, but… you seem to enjoy what you’re drinking and I wager you like to indulge in the things you enjoy.”

Mycroft’s sniggering cracked the thick mass of anxiety that had congealed in Greg’s chest and he simply emitted a loud, put-upon sigh while Mycroft took another few moments to savor something that vaulted so far beyond his experience that he had no words for it.  Gregory was delicious!  More delectable than the finest of anything he had ever sipped, be it sanguineous or not in nature.  It was shocking how exhilarating was this flavor and… how stimulating it was, as well.

      “Mycroft… if you want me to be honest, that feels really good and I’m getting hard, which isn’t really in line with your modest and proper rule, now is it?”

Gregory was stimulated, also!  Their stimulation was synchronized!

      “Dvoo I fvaf to?”

      “Yeah, I think you do, because we can’t really talk while you _can’t_ talk and I’m wanting to rub my cock through my trousers.”

Mycroft looked up with mournful eyes and Greg gave him the best scowl he could muster.

      “Vbrwry wjell.”

Reluctantly extracting his fangs from Greg’s wrist, Mycroft lapped gently at the wounds to speed their healing then licked away any remaining traces of his snack, smiling smugly when he was done.

      “Look at you all proud and self-satisfied about making me hot.”

      “It is a valid reason, is it not.”

      “I… yeah, I guess it is.”

Mycroft took advantage of his smugness and reached up to play a moment with Greg’s ears, smoothing the fur and taking note of how the color well-complimented the hair on Greg’s head.

      “So…. I suppose I don’t have to worry about you spreading about my family’s secret.”

      “No, that is not even the slightest concern.  In fact, this might be a tremendously beneficial thing, as on our grounds, one could run, howl, do whatever it is werewolves do when they are transformed, and nary would a person know.  If there was, by chance, some trespasser present, they would… well, it would do little but add to the already fantastical reputation of our property.”

      “That’s true.  I hadn’t thought of that.”

      “Neither had I, though… I have never before known a werewolf.”

      “I haven’t known a vampire before, either.”

      “In truth, I was of the impression that werewolves inhabited the remotest of regions.”

      “Some do.  Some, like us, make a home wherever we can.  It’s easier for adults, they have more control, but kids… when I was very small we _did_ have to live out in the land of nothing because I scampered about as a wolf or half-wolf as often as I did in human form!”

There was not an image imaginable, to Mycroft’s mind, as adorable as wolf-pup Gregory.  If photographs did not exist of this he would declare the world a cruel and heartless creature.

      “Well, I, for one, am exceedingly happy that your family decided to plant its roots in the nearby hamlet.”

Greg’s smile rose, broadened and took on a touch of wicked excitement that drew from Mycroft a very similar smile in response.

      “I am, too.  Definitely a lot of benefits.  One brilliant, sexy benefit comes to mind, as a matter of fact.”

This time, it was Greg who leaned in first to kiss Mycroft’s firm, welcoming lips and each lost themselves a moment in the special feeling of finding someone who did all the things the films and books said another person could do in your life, but you knew it was stuff and nonsense.  The moment might have lingered a long while if a knocking hadn’t sounded on the library door.

      “Mycroft?  Your father says if I value keeping my dress unrumpled, which I do, I had best knock first for you have taken to fisticuffs to remove unwarranted intruders on your… cozy den.”

      “Mummy!  Gregory… your ears!”

      “Fuck!  Will they… are your parents ok with werewolves?”

      “I have no idea, however, I _do_ know what a nosy parker Mummy will be if she sees you like this.  We shall never see the end of her!”

      “Ok… what do we do?”

      “I… ah.  Here.  Just one moment…”

Mycroft held up two cushions and Greg wondered how his brilliant Mycroft had suddenly gone daft.

      “Are you serious?”

      “No, for I forgot about your eyes.  Ah, this will satisfy on both fronts.  Just… oh, it is a touch snug… there.  Ahem… yes, Mummy?  Do come in.”

Two disheveled boys was something Mycroft’s mother expected to see, to her delight, however one of them wearing the helmet from the library’s suit of armor had not factored heavily into her expectations.

      “Might I ask why Gregory is wearing the armet of a 15th century Italian prince?”

      “To… see if it fits.”

      “Ah, well, that is rather a more direct response than I anticipated.  In any case, I was wondering what time you might be escorting Gregory home, as your Father has need of his driver at some point tonight.”

      “Oh…”

Mycroft looked over at the clock and realized that he had completely lost track of time and the hour had grown late.

      “Gregory, given tomorrow is likely a school day for you…”

Greg struggled to see anything in his disguise and finally caught sight of the clock and the tale it told.  Besides the virgin-blood story, of course.  Which, maybe, might be a tad truer than he had thought.  He’d have to ask Mycroft about that later…

      “Yeah, I see what you mean.  It’s probably time for me to leave.”

      “I do not hope you are feeling rushed, dear boy.  You are most welcome to visit with our Mycroft for as long as… your heart desires.”

      “Uh… not feeling rushed, Mrs. Homes.  More that Mum will skin me and have my hide tacked to the wall if I’m home too late.”

      “Very well.  I shall have the car brought around.  If I do not see you before you leave, Gregory, dear… please do come again, soon.  It is positively a delight to have you in our home.  Mycroft… do take care he is seen home safely.”

Mycroft’s soft hiss was in response to something Greg couldn’t see, but didn’t actually _need_ to see since the teasing tone to Mycroft’s mother’s voice was exactly the sort that made him want to hiss at his own mum, too, when she was being cheeky.  Well, it was more of a growl, in his case, but the principle was the same.

      “And we are liberated, Gregory.  The foul woman has departed.”

      “Your mum’s not foul.  She smells very nice, actually.  Don’t hiss at me!  It’s true.  You smell very nice, too.  Does that help?”

      “It does.”

      “Enough to get this off my head?”

      “Ah, yes.  That is certainly a pressing concern.”

Since his Gregory’s ears had to be painfully compressed in the helmet, which was designed for a man without so robust a head.

      “Oh, that’s better.  Promise me I’ll never have to go into battle wearing that thing.  I’d be run through with a pike in five minutes!  Can’t see a bloody thing.”

      “I shall ensure that never occurs.  Now, however… I suppose it is time.”

      “Yeah.  I don’t want it to be, though.”

      “Neither do I.  However, you are returning Friday, are you not?”

      “Absolutely!  And… I don’t know if you want to, but you can visit me some night before that.  Or we can meet at the library or cinema.”

      “A grand idea!  Shall I phone you to make arrangements.”

      “Yeah.  Oh, I should ask… vampires and sun…”

      “It is not our natural time and we are terribly lethargic if awake during daylight hours, but we do not burst into flames if a photon of sunlight lands upon our skin.”

      “Good to know.  Daytime date ideas are out, nighttime date ideas are the way to go forward.”

      “Gregory… so strategic.”

      “Like that?  I have my moments.”

      “Indeed you do.”

Mycroft gave Greg another kiss and, in a… hopefully… inspired flash, lowered his fangs and ran them along Greg’s neck, savoring as deeply Greg’s impassioned shudder as the scent of arousal rising from Greg’s skin.

      “Do that again and a brace of horses won’t be enough to pull me away from you.”

Success!  His seductive maneuver was correctly performed!

      “Then I shall wait for another time when… we have more time.”

How disappointingly soggy.  More work was certainly required on the proper use of seductive language.  The research would commence immediately upon Gregory’s return home.

      “I can’t wait!  Though… waiting to see you again is going to be hard.  And I don’t mean that… completely… in a porny way, either.”

Greg hopped off the sofa, using motion to cover the fact that he was a big dork and the vampires had a large advantage in the game of romance over werewolves.  Maybe he could find a book or something to make him more suave.  The library must have a few, though he’d have to wear a fake moustache if he asked the librarian to help him find one.  There were some things you just didn’t want other people know, even library science professionals.

      “I, too, will mourn the time we are apart.”

In fact, even as he rose, Mycroft was mourning it.  Seeing his Gregory home was a duty he took seriously, but he would much rather bundle them both in a large blanket and while away the rest of the evening, relaxing on this very sofa.  Alas, the burdens of life were harsh at this age.

Checking that nobody was between them and the main door, Mycroft paused and snatched a small cloth to wrap around Greg’s head to hide from the driver the last vestiges of the werewolf’s slowly-receding ear performance and escorted his new… boyfriend… to the car.  So caught up in their new romance was the pair that neither noticed the two tall figures watching them from a second-floor window.

      “How handsome they are together.  Mama _did_ prophesize our son would find his love at Halloween.”

Wrapping his arms around his wife’s waist, Mycroft’s father chuckled softly and kissed the smooth skin of her cheek.

      “That she did.  However, she did not foresee that his love would be a werewolf.”

      “Well… the Tarot is not always as forthcoming as she would prefer.”

      “Understandable… especially given the amount of absinthe she drank before she cast our son’s cards.”

      “It was his first birthday celebration!  She was due her… excess.”

      “Of course, my beloved.  And a Lestrade, too… the family is an old and noble one.”

      “Naturally.  Our Mycroft would attract none other but the finest of the werewolf breed.  We must invite Gregory and his family to our Halloween ball to introduce them to _our_ family.  I shall instruct the maids to hide all of the broadswords in preparation.”

      “Yes, Father still harbors a rather rancorous attitude towards the werewolves, since he received his injuries.  Though he delights in showing off the scars and recounting his rancor whenever possible.”

      “Well, it was his own silly fault.  One should not attempt to seduce the wife of anyone, let alone a decidedly foul-tempered werewolf.”

      “Father was a rather roguish man in his youth.”

      “Like his son.”

Mycroft’s mother lowered her fangs and smiled at her husband, who took her hand and began walking her towards their bedroom.  _Their_ son had found his true love and a celebration of the love they shared was certainly the perfect thing to mark the occasion.

      “True, my beloved, however, I never attempted to seduce a werewolf or his wife.”

      “I concede the point, but counter your assertion with your devilish dalliance with the witch triplets.”

      “That _was_ roguish of me, I do admit.  But, to my great honor, at first glance, you captured my heart and never has another ignited even a flicker of interest.”

      “Flatterer.”

      “Always.”

      “Something you must teach your son.  We must ensure he is as stellar a husband as are you.”

      “In time.  They have only met, you know.”

      “It is never too early to teach the art of romance.”

      “A valid point.  Very well,  I shall begin tomorrow.  Tonight, I have far more important things to attend to.”

      “Might that be me?”

      “It might.”

      “Then tomorrow will suffice.”

      “Thank you, my dear.”

      “Never let it be said that I am unreasonable in my demands.”

      “Perish the thought.  Sherlock wears that particular crown in this family.”

      “And he looks adorable in it.”

      “That he does.”


End file.
